


Colter

by KellynKupcake



Series: Reflections [7]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Night Terrors, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 11:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellynKupcake/pseuds/KellynKupcake
Summary: Following on from the events of Shattering we skip to the events at the beginning of the game, just after the Blackwater job gone wrong. John struggles with his injury after nearly being eaten alive and we follow him through the canon and random camp events that happen in Chapter 1: Colter.





	Colter

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much to anyone still reading this series! 
> 
> These stories are intended to be a series but can be read as standalones. However this is the first story of the series that relies heavily on backstory from it’s predecessor, Shattering. I do recommend you at least read that one first for the entire story to make sense to you as there are flashback sequences that take place straight after that story. However it is not completely necessary.

John stared out over the cliffside with glazed eyes, too dry for how soaked through the rest of his body was. His back ached as it pressed against the sharp edge of the precipice. Exhausted muscles shivering against the bracing cold. Wet snow seeped through every inch of his clothing, making the fabric heavy and tacky.

His teeth chattered together so violently he worried they might shatter. He was so viciously cold. His entire body being swallowed by the chill as he slowly froze to death.

His face was on fire. Burning as if he was being branded in two long streaks along the side of his cheek. He licked his lips, the cold not enough to numb the sting of where they had been ripped opened by dirty claws.

The whistle of the wind was almost loud enough to muffle the howls of the wolves in the distance. He unconsciously pressed himself further back against the rocks and snow. Curling in on himself at the sound. The ever-present fear that they would return for him had his heart in his throat.

He had never feared death. The inevitability of it made fearing it seem stupid. He found no point in wallowing over where and when. But if he had ever spent any time wondering. If he had, had one thousand guesses as to when and where his time would come. He never would have thought at the age of twenty six. In the middle of a blizzard, stuck on the side of a mountain, worlds away from where anyone would logically think to look for him.

As the wild beasts howled not too far away, he closed his eyes and pursed his cracked and bleeding lips. He just hoped if this really was his time that he would succumb to the cold before they found him.

~~

** _*Flashback*_ **

John ran the saddle soap over the leather tack on his knee and ignored the heavy crunch of footsteps he heard halt a few feet in front of him.

He swallowed, inhaling a deep breath to keep himself from speaking. To force himself to keep his eyes on his saddle and not look up to meet Arthur’s eyes before the other man spoke first.

The silence stretched on. The scrape of the soap against the leather the only sound between them as they both waited stubbornly for the other to make the first move.

John heard Arthur sigh, long and loud. The crunch of his boots on the gravel starting anew as he made his way around John and plonked himself down on a crate by his side.

John could see him out of the corner of his eye. Holding his hat in his hands as he rested his forearms on his knees. He twirled the suede gambler in his fingertips as he mulled over his own thoughts. The silence continuing on for some time until John felt he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Just say it!” He shouted, slamming the saddle soap down on the table behind him and holding back a satisfied smirk at the small jump Arthur made at the gesture.

Arthur frowned, his grip on the brim of his hat making his knuckles shine white as he narrowed his eyes at the younger man.

He took a second to compose himself, licking his lips as he calmly placed the hat down on the table behind him and clasped his hands together.

“You ain’t thinkin’ right.” He said simply. Making John roll his eyes in response. Of course that would be his opinion.

“Oh yeah?” John asked, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his front pocket and placing one in his mouth. “How’s that?” He asked, voice muffled by the hand he cupped around his face to protect the flame of his match from the wind.

The cig caught fire easily and John took a long drag, taking a second to hold the smoke in his lungs as he flicked his lit match to the ground and stomped it out with his boot.

“You’re hurtin’.” Arthur said in a matter-of-fact way that made John’s skin crawl. As if it was common knowledge that he was in pain.

That his heart was broken.

John exhaled the smoke through his nose. Raising the butt to his mouth once more and quickly taking another drag to avoid having to speak.

“Now I don’t know why. But you can’t abandon Abigail and your boy over a silly fight.” Arthur said gruffly, irritation seeping into his tone at the fact that John was avoiding the conversation.

“I ain’t _abanodnin’_ no one.” John said firmly, turning to look at Arthur for the first time since he’d approached. His eyes grazing over the other man’s hardened expression slowly before turning back to the scenery in front of him. For the first time in his life, he truly felt like he was in the right. He wasn’t about to sit and be lectured for something he actually felt good about.

“You’re makin’ ‘em sleep outside.” Arthur hissed.

“I’m makin’ Abigail sleep outside. _She’s_ makin’ Jack sleep outside.” John retorted, stressing the pronoun in the hopes Arthur would see his side of it all.

“She don’t want to be away from her son, you can’t fault her for that.”

“I ain’t faultin’ no one for nothin’.” John hissed back, venom in his tone. “She don’t want to be with me, she don’t get to sleep in my tent. End of story.” John spat, taking another drag on his smoke before dropping it on the ground in front of him. He stood, stepping over it with his boot as he walked away, intending to leave the conversation.

Arthur followed, grabbing hold of John’s bicep and spinning him around so they were facing one another once more. John hissed uncomfortably but recovered himself quick enough that Arthur didn’t question. He cocked a brow at the annoyed wince on the other man’s face but powered on none-the less.

“What you mean she don’t want to be with you?” Arthur asked quietly, eyes flicking towards some of the other Gang members that were casually staring in their direction. “You said she loved you.” He said even softer, barely a whisper as he leaned towards the other man.

John swallowed audibly. Tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he averted his eyes.

“Yeah well… Turns out it she don’t.” He answered after a moment. Voice stiff, lips pursed.

“What you mean?” Arthur frowned, hand squeezing John’s bicep again after a moment of silence and eliciting another hiss from the younger man.

John shrugged away, voice rising, annoyance in his tone.

“She just said it to keep me ‘round. She don’t mean it.” He snapped, clearly hurt and trying to keep it at bay. Arthur rolled his eyes

“Sure she does.”

“No… She don’t.” John swallowed thickly. “Guess I shoulda’ figured when she never said it back all those years.”

Arthur felt a pang to his heart at the words. An uncomfortable sting he hadn’t expected as he took in the hurt in his brother’s eyes. He looked miserable. Truly, miserable. Arthur realised as John frowned in his direction.

“You’re blowin’ things out of proportion.” Arthur said in an effort to console him. “Spiralling.” He added as John narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Arthur.” John said slowly after a tense moment. It was all well and good for the older man to have an opinion based on what he knew of the situation. But when ‘what he knew’ wasn’t enough to go on, it made John’s blood boil that he was being so harshly judged.

There was a long silence. Tension in the air as Arthur contemplated how to reply. He had no idea what to say. He had known John was in pain. But the question as to why hung around the gang like a thick cloud that wouldn’t dissipate.

Gossip and rumours spreading through them like wildfire as they all made sure to tread likely around John’s fragile exterior and Abigail’s temper.

Karen was probably the only person that came close to having a clue and John resented the fact that for some reason, she seemed to want to keep her mouth shut for the first time in her life.

He watched Arthur sadly; waiting.

When nothing was said in reply he huffed audibly. Turning to leave, this time not being followed.

Arthur wanted to protect Abigail and Jack even if that meant throwing John in the lake and letting him drown in the process. The older man didn’t care to hear John’s side of things and John wasn’t about to volunteer it if he wasn’t asked. The very real threat of being mocked for having feelings was too much for him. He couldn’t deal with explaining everything to Arthur only to be shut down because his brother hadn’t asked for his sob-story.

Arthur watched him go, feeling regretful that he hadn’t spoken. He had confronted John with the intent of shaking some sense into him. Physically if he had to. But after only a brief conversation he could see plainly what others had been whispering the last few days.

John was hurt and for some reason that fact resonated within him more than he thought it ought to.

~~

The loud crack of a gunshot startled John from his thoughts. He gasped for air, the shock of the sound having shaken him.

He listened intently, the whistling of the wind the only sound his ears would register. He started to wonder if maybe he had imagined it. His own breathing the loudest sound in the vicinity.

He sat bolt upright at the sound of voices. In the distance he heard them calling. Calling _his _name and asking if he could hear them.

“I’m here!” He screamed, pushing himself away from the cliffside as if the few inches he shuffled would help his voice travel. “I’m over here!” He shouted again, hands coming up to cup his mouth in an effort to make himself louder. “Help!” He added after a second of thought, voice weakening with the word.

He hated it with a passion. He’d had to scream it more times in his life than any other word.

He recognised Arthur’s voice, sighing internally as he slumped back against the cliff. They could hear him. He was going to be okay. But why the hell did it have to be Arthur?

He waited what felt like an eternity for his friends to come into view. Calling out every now and then after what he deemed to be a long enough silence that he was worried he may have hallucinated the entire situation.

Javier reassured him every time that they were coming. He was going to be alright.

He looked up at Arthur weakly as the older man squatted on the cliff-face above him. Feeling incredibly small in his time of need. The smirk on his brother’s face irritating the shit out of him. But he was grateful non-the-less.

“Never thought I’d say this…” John started sarcastically. “But, good to see you Arthur Morgan.” He finished with a genuine thankfulness to his tone.

“That’s quite a scratch you got there.” Arthur said blatantly, ignoring the thanks and getting straight to the point. John narrowed his eyes as the other continued. “You don’t look too good.”

“Don’t feel too good neither.” John replied simply as the older man jumped down to his level. Effortlessly plucking him off the ground and on to his shoulder. “I’m freezing.” John croaked, grunting in pain as he was roughly shoved up onto the next level of cliffside and Javier grabbed his arms to steady him.

“Don’t die yet cowboy.” He heard Arthur mumble from somewhere behind him as he breathed an unsteady sigh of relief to be in safe hands.

~~

John hugged Javier’s waist as tightly as he was able. The burning ache in his face was exacerbated by the scratchy fabric of the other main’s coat as he pressed his face into it. He huddled against him, wincing at the pain but knowing full well to turn his head would be vomiting the bile steadily rising in his throat at the movement.

He shook uncontrollably, hoping to hell Javier couldn’t hear the small whimpers he was letting slip against his shoulder blades as they galloped towards shelter. Wind whipped his wet hair around his unmarred cheek and neck, adding another uncomfortable sensation to his already over-sensitive, throbbing body.

“I don’t feel too good.” He choked, managing to keep the vomit down as he warned his saddle-mate of his state. He’d never felt so sick. So… hurt. From the second he’d heard them calling his name he had been ready to pass out. Knowing that they meant safety. His body wanting to shut down now that he knew they would take him to shelter. The imminent threat of death seeming more distant than it did while he was alone on the mountain, even if it hadn’t really left his side.

“You still with us Marston?” Arthur shouted from somewhere to his left, voice muffled by the snow-storm.

“Just about…” John answered weakly.

“You’re gonna be okay! We have some shelter now!” Javier shouted over the sound of the blizzard. Feeling John’s arms start to loosen around his waist he felt it best to keep him talking. Keep his mind working and his tongue moving to prevent blacking out.

“Thanks for comin’ for me…” John said, louder than his last statement so Arthur could hear it too. The older man stayed silent while Javier answered.

“Of course!” He exclaimed, petting one of John’s hands with his own. “That bullet in Blackwater, now this! You’ve had a hell of a time.”

John hummed in agreement before replying.

“And Arthur always says I’m lucky.” He jabbed, poking the bear on purpose as punishment for him not replying to his thanks.

“None of us are lucky right now.” Javier said in an effort to end the conversation he could feel turning sour. It worked briefly, both men stayed silent for a beat before Arthur piped up.

“You know, we’re gonna need to come up with a better story for that scar.” He prodded, mirth in his tone.

John scoffed, feeling a spark of anger course through him and liven him enough to rebuttal.

“So, freezing, Bleeding, Starving and damn near getting eaten’ to death ain’t good enough for you?” He asked incredulously. Letting his head loll to the side after he finished speaking. The darkness closing in.

Arthur ignored the statement, choosing instead to encourage them onwards. Javier pointing out the buildings in the distance to John, who couldn’t really see anything if he was being honest.

They rode into the little mining town less than a minute later. Arthur yelling out for help as they stopped in front of a small wooden shack. The door flew opened, Abigail bursting forth, quickly followed by Bill and Lenny.

“You’re alive!” She screamed! “Oh, you’re alive!”

John felt his heart flutter at the sound. A brief moment of weightlessness descended upon him as he heard the genuine concern in her voice.

“Help him down!” Javier shouted, as John was jolted from his place. He gasped, crying out as his leg twisted while he was being lowered down onto the other men’s shoulders. “Ay, careful idiotas, it’s his leg!” Javier yelled, shaking his head as John rested his weight on the other men and was carried towards the cabin.

“Come on let’s get you warm!” Abigail exclaimed, running ahead of them to hold the door opened. John closed his eyes, feeling his heart quicken at her tone. Sounds around him suddenly becoming more muffled as he was dragged through the doorway and the warmth of the room hit him.

Abigail led them to the cot at the far end of the room. Fussing over his clothes as he was being laid down.

“This is a new low even by your standards.” She snapped as his ass hit the cot and he grunted in pain.

The darkness finally took its hold as Arthur grumbled outside about lost maiden’s needing saving.

~~

He regained consciousness with a gasp, crying out at the force of his face being shoved to the side. He struggled in someone else’s grip. Arms waving frantically as he fought to fend off the large snarling animals on top of him.

“No!” He screamed. “No!” He was held down roughly by two sets of hands. Voices he couldn’t discern telling him it was alright. Asking him to calm down.

“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Susan’s voice stood out above the rest. Her shrill tone shushing him more affectively than anyone else’s as he started to remember where he was.

Being saved.

His breathing began to calm. Heartbeat returning to a somewhat normal pace as he remembered he was with his family.

“It’s alright John. Just checking you out.” Reverend Swanson assured, hand holding tightly on his left arm while Susan pressed down on his chest. The Reverend help up a syringe. John couldn’t tell if he was waving it lazily or if it was his vision moving it for him. “Gonna give you something for the pain.” Swanson explained as Susan began to roll up his sleeve.

He wasn’t sure when he had been dressed down to his union suit, but that was all he was wearing in this moment.

He watched as Grimshaw’s tired face began to frown. Turning his bare arm in her hand and looking it over from all angles before flicking her eyes towards his. He swallowed audibly, knowing what she saw and begging her to ignore it.

She did, rolling his sleeve back down to just above his elbow before holding him still for the Reverend.

He felt the sting of the needle and the cool of the morphine running through his veins. The ache of his body already starting to dull as the medicine worked its magic.

He suddenly felt light. Weightless as he started to wonder if perhaps, he had been overdosed. He’d had morphine in the past but it had never made him feel this heavenly.

He looked around him slowly through half-lidded eyes. Suddenly registering that there were other people in the room. All the women were gathered around a small fireplace. Most of them blatantly looking in his direction until Susan snapped at them to mind their beeswax.

They looked away, Tilly turning Jack back to face the fire and shielding his little eyes from his failure of a Father.

John inhaled sharply, looking around for Abigail and realising she was now stood in between Grimshaw and Swanson. He held his hand out by reflex. Forgetting they weren’t really on the best terms. But she seemed to pity him. Looking at it for a moment before taking it in hers and looking away awkwardly.

John felt better for the fact that she had afforded him that small comfort. Remembering her words as he had drifted off before.

“This is a new low, even by your standards.”

His heart panged as the words echoed through his head. He squeezed her hand softly with what little strength he had and felt her squeeze back once before letting go and taking a step back.

He frowned as Susan leaned into his vision. The firelight glinting off the large crooked needle she held in her hand.

John’s eyes widened, throat feeling dry as he tried to speak. Words didn’t come as easily as he had imagined and before he knew what was happening, Grimshaw was asking Swanson to hold him down.

He struggled frantically, trying to get out of her reach. She had stitched him with that bastard in the past and it hurt enough to bring tears to his eyes when it was on his thigh. He wasn’t about to let her touch his face with it.

He shook his head desperately, trying to get out of Swanson’s grip but he was too weakened from his time on the mountain.

“Abi?” He asked, lips trembling as he resigned himself to the pain. At the very least he wanted her by his side while he endured it. “Abi?” He asked again, blurry vision focusing on her pale face as she covered her mouth in disgust.

She took a step back, shaking her head as she looked at the needle with fearful eyes. She had never had a strong stomach for gore.

John whined, the morphine slurring his speech as he pleaded for her not to leave. She shook her head sadly, backing away even as he reached for her with wide eyes. Terrified.

“Please?” He asked softly. The room full of eyes behind her burning into him as he begged her to come back. His outstretched hand shaking uncontrollably as fear pooled in his gut.

A warm hand took his suddenly, soft fingers lacing between his as he turned to face its owner. Mary-Beth smiled at him sadly, her other hand coming to rest on top of his as she squeezed reassuringly.

Abigail looked between them briefly before taking her leave. The cold wind whistling inside and chilling him to the bone as she exited the door above his head.

He inhaled a stuttered breath as he managed to break free from Swanson’s grip enough to curl in on the mattress. Susan’s comforting hand petting his shoulder softly before she moved it to hold his cheek taut so she could begin her work stitching him.

He felt himself whimper as the needle pressed against his cheek and he clenched his teeth against a cry as she pressed it into him, making him tremble.

The morphine dulled the pain somewhat. Making the room spin and vomit rise in his throat as he struggled to keep his composure. He could hear the whispers of hushed voices in the distance and knew they were all laughing at how weak he was. He was sure he could hear his name. Muffled laughter as he held Mary-Beth’s hand tight enough to break her fingers.

She hissed against the pain but kept her mouth shut. Not wanting to snuff out his only light in the darkness.

“It’ll be alright John.” She said kindly, leaning closer to talk to him softly. She averted her eyes as she caught a glimpse of Mrs Grimshaw’s work. Her stomach turning at the sight. “It’s not that bad.” She lied, eyes flicking to his briefly. She exhaled sharply at the sight of a single tear rolling over the bridge of his nose. Her heart aching for him in this moment.

This was the kind of thing she wrote about. Not lived through. She couldn’t even imagine what he had been feeling as Abigail left him in his moment of need.

“You’ll be okay…” She cooed quietly, tightening her own grip on his hand and petting it tightly with her other.

“Nearly finished this one Mr Marston.” Susan said softly, her thumb running lightly over his unmarred flesh in an effort to soothe him. “Not long now.”

John swallowed thickly, body trembling as their voices started to fade. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or if shock was finally settling him. But either way the sting of the needle was slowly disappearing and the room was becoming oddly silent. A ringing in his ears overtook the quiet assurances of his friends and his eyes rolled back in his head as he slid into unconsciousness.

~

John gasped. Eyes blinking in the darkness as he awoke with a fight. Heart racing, breath uneven as the sound of snarling jaws snapping together and the glint of white teeth faded into the dark room.

He turned to the left, focusing on the last smouldering embers of what was once a roaring fire. The women were still huddled around it, clinging together to shut out the bracing cold. They were slumped against one another, most snoring softly as the blankets they had tucked up under their chins rustled in the cold wind filtering through the broken planks on the wall.

John felt his breath leave him in stuttered pants. The morphine had worn off during his slumber and the burning hot, throbbing pain of infection had overtaken his entire face. His cheek felt as though it could boil water. The tension on his stitches pulled his mouth in to a scowl and he winced as he tried to correct it.

The scratches on his arms and legs had also been attended to while he was out. They didn’t burn as bad as his face. But they still throbbed heartily, making his entire body twitch uncomfortably.

The desire to cool his face down began to overwhelm him as he looked frantically around the room for Abigail.

He could see her slumped against the wall at the opposite end of the cabin. Jack in her lap as they cuddled together under a large fur blanket.

He tried to speak. A strangled sound leaving him as he realised how dry his mouth was. He cleared his throat. Trying in vain to wet his mouth with saliva as he whispered for her attention.

“Abi…” He croaked, not wanting to wake anyone else unnecessarily. “A… Abi…” He tried again, a little louder. Voice giving way to a dry cough as he waved his hand to try and get her attention.

He knew deep down it was useless. But the desperation he felt inside his chest was mounting and he felt it only fair to at least try something rational before he did something stupid in an effort to take away the pain.

Afterall, Arthur and Javier had risked their lives to pull him off that mountainside and bring him back to shelter and safety.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall at his predicament. He hadn’t been much of a crier since he hit adulthood. But these last few years had really taken its toll on him. It seemed to be one thing after another, day in day out and he was finding it increasingly hard to hold back the anxiety and depression that had been looming under the surface for the last few months.

Being physically injured had always brought out his vulnerability. He had held it together real well when he had been shot in Blackwater. But now, after damn near freezing, starving and being eaten he wasn’t so sure he would be able to keep his composure much longer.

His leg ached where he’d been hit by the bullet. Throbbed painfully like his face and added to his misery.

He rolled on to his side, wincing at the pain that shot up his leg as he put pressure on his wound.

Grabbing at the edge of the bed with both hands he slowly inched himself closer to the edge. His left arm shot out to stabilize himself on the ground and stop the entire cot from toppling. Slowly he dragged himself out of bed. Teeth gritted together against the pain and whimpers threatening to escape his throat.

He crawled along the floor, favouring his good leg as he hobbled up to the door and shoved his body weight against it. The cold wind that rushed through felt amazing on his face. He turned to look at the sleeping gang members, making sure he didn’t wake them before pushing through the small opening and crawling out in to the snow.

The cold ice melted through his gloves, chilling his fingers to the bone as he dragged his bad leg along behind him. He didn’t make it more than a metre before his muscles gave out. His body collapsing into the soft mush. He rolled to his right, pressing his injured face into the snow and sighing in relief as the burning he had been feeling was eased.

His eyes drifted closed, warm breath clouding around him as it slowed down to an even pace. His body was freezing. But the snow on his wounds felt too glorious for him to care.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what he was doing was dangerous. He wasn’t dressed for the cold like he had been when he went out days earlier. It was a miracle he had survived on the mountain side at all even in his attire. But dressed only in his union suit in this moment, he would freeze to death in no time at all.

For all the wishing to be saved he had done on the side of that cliff, he found he didn’t care in this moment if he died. He was in so much pain. The fog of his fever clouding his judgement as he nuzzled deeper into the ice.

Suddenly he was being lurched upwards. He cried out in pain as his leg wound scraped along the ground. His arms forced upwards as strong arms hooked under his armpits.

“Fuckin’ idiot Marston.” Arthur growled from somewhere behind him. The smell of liquor and cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils as the breath hot on his ear berated him for being so stupid. “You tryin’ to catch your death you moron?” Arthur asked as he dragged his limp body back inside the shelter.

The older man smashed himself against the door, making it crash opened dramatically as he moved inside. His boots and spurs scraping loudly against the uneven wooden slats as he grumbled about risking his neck to save him.

John stayed quiet, unable to answer even if he wanted to. Shame bubbling up inside his chest as the chattering of startled gang members started up around the fire.

“John!” Abigail exclaimed angrily, flying towards them from her place across the cabin. “What happened?” She asked apprehensively, moving to help John swing his legs back on to the bed.

“This idiot’s tryin’ to kill himself out in the snow.” Arthur growled, making John grimace as his was placed down on the cot roughly. The wind knocked out of him.

Not technically untrue, he supposed. But he wouldn’t have worded it like that. Or shouted it for the entire room to hear either.

“John Marston!” Abigail exclaimed, hands coming to rest on his arm as she sat down on the seat next to him. “You idiot we got a son to support. Don’t you go dyin’ on me.” She shouted, hands tightening on his arm and making him huff in annoyance.

“So… hot.” He ground out. Turning his face away from both of them as he writhed uncomfortably.

“What are you talkin’ about it’s freezin’ in here!” Abigail retorted, hand coming up to rest on his forehead.

“My face.” John clarified, turning back to her and pleading for her to understand. His voice was so hoarse, he wouldn’t be able to say much more. “Pain.” He whispered, trembling hand coming up to point at his bandaged cheek.

Abigail inhaled softly, a small sound of recognition leaving her as she asked Arthur to watch over him while she went to find the Reverend.

Arthur agreed, sitting down in Abigail’s place and folding his arms over his chest as he looked to John with distain.

John looked away once more, unable to take the criticism in his fragile state. His clouded mind could only concentrate on the burning of his wounds as he shivered inside his soaked clothing.

Arthur leant forwards, a large sigh leaving him as he pulled the blanket off the end of the bed and brought it up to John’s chin. Somewhere in the back of John’s clouded mind he knew he should change out of his drenched clothes.

Arthur thought along the same lines. But he wasn’t about to help another man get undressed if he didn’t need to. He would wait for Abigail to return.

John stared at the ceiling with his one good eye. He could see the sky starting to lighten through the cracks in the wooden roof. He wondered vaguely how long he had been out of it. He assumed only hours. But for all he knew it could be days.

Abigail returned covered in a light layer of freshly fallen snow. She brushed it off her shoulders as she directed the Reverend to take Arthur’s place in the chair next to him.

John turned to face the wall. Holding out his left arm and gritting his teeth as he felt a tourniquet tighten around his bicep.

For all the times he’d been shot or cut open without making a fuss. He still couldn’t do needles. Something about the fact that they touched his veins made him squirm. He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath as he waited for the sting. He scrunched his nose as he felt the metal pierce his skin and the cold liquid morphine pass through into his veins.

He let his eyes drift closed. An almost instant relief filled him as the medicine started to work its magic. He inhaled deeply, letting his arm fall limp by his side as he felt Swanson let him go and Abigail take his place in the chair.

She stroked over his temple with gentle fingers, making him shiver. He felt a strong sense of comfort at her touch and briefly regretted any and all fights they had ever had.

Until her fingers left him. He heard her move and couldn’t help the way his face fell at the realisation. He opened his eyes, the room spinning as he turned to look where she had gone and saw her settle back down against the opposite wall next to Jack.

He stared at her sadly, catching her eye and biting the inside of his cheek as she paused briefly to look at him before continuing to pull the blanket back over herself and closed her eyes.

His eyes wandered away from her, over the rest of the women sleeping in the small cabin before stopping on a form he didn’t recognise.

Piercing brown eyes stared directly at him from under golden bangs that had been swept aside. He narrowed his own eyes, squinting in the darkness at the new addition.

Sadie didn’t look away, matching his stare until he finally turned back to face the ceiling.

Whoever she was, she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

~

The next time John awoke it was to warm hands rewrapping his bandage. He had been so dead to the world that he hadn’t even felt them take it off and change it. He jolted away, his instinct to bat the hands away after so many years living outdoors with a bunch of people that liked to fuck with you if you passed out first.

The hand holding the bandage caught his firmly as he swiped at it. Holding it in place briefly before gently placing it back by his side. He turned to see who had a hold of him, relaxing as he realised it was Susan.

“You’re alright.” She cooed softly, squeezing his wrist briefly as he let his head fall back into the mattress. He looked away, letting her finish her work as he tried to block out the chatter of the room’s other occupants.

The women often joked Susan was a dragon of a woman and she could be at times. When John was younger and refused to do his chores. He’d never been hit quite as hard as she had smacked him. Knocking him on his ass, lip trembling as he clutched at his cheek. She stood over him, shouting about what an ungrateful little shit he was. He had never crossed her again after that and she had certainly softened towards him over time.

In a way she was like the Mama he’d always wished he had. Pushing him to better himself, making him do his chores and appreciate the things he was given. But still showing compassion towards him when he was ill. Taking care of him when he was sick or injured.

Although if he had to choose someone to be his Ma, no other contender could come close to the memory of Bessie Matthews.

Despite that, he liked Susan, a lot. Something Abigail didn’t and would never come to understand.

He turned back to her, testing the stitches in his lip as he moved them to ask.

She shushed him, answering his unasked question by telling him Abigail had taken Jack to spend some time with Hosea. He was too young to understand what was happening to his Pa and Abigail couldn’t deflect the questions any longer so she had taken him out for a distraction.

John nodded in understanding. Despite that he still felt the stab of heartbreak fresh in his chest as he was reminded of the fact that she didn’t really care what had happened to him. Not after their fight right before Blackwater, where he had thrown her out of his tent.

She would be content if they never reconciled. So long as John continued to provide for her and made an effort to parent the boy every now and then.

Susan brushed his arm lightly to get his attention. Seemingly following his train of thought as she worked on the wound there.

“She’ll come around.” She said encouragingly. “And if she don’t… Well this gang is no place to raise a boy anyhow.” She said bluntly, her tone turning sour. John frowned at her, a question on his lips but she shushed him once more. A grunt leaving him instead as she tightened the bandage roughly. “She’s lucky you stepped up to provide for that boy.” Susan continued, shifting her chair around the cot and sitting back down to tend to the wound on his leg.

John shifted uncomfortably as she touched his thigh. Her hands suddenly feeling as cold as her tone.

“No one else would have done that John.” Susan said, her finger waving in the air as if she was scolding someone. “A whore that gets herself pregnant ain’t a good one.” She laughed. “It weren’t your responsibility to take care of her.” She paused. “Or that boy.” She added gruffly. “We all know he ain’t yours.”

John felt his heart quicken when Susan mentioned Jack. He had his own doubts but he didn’t realise anyone else felt the same. As Arthur had put it during their argument just before the Blackwater job:

‘It don’t matter if he’s yours or not. He’s your responsibility.’

John narrowed his eyes at the memory. He listened to Susan’s rant for a little long, feeling content in the fact that he had at least one ally in amongst the growing mass of assholes that expected ‘better’ of him.

“You’re a good man.” She continued, unaware John had stopped listening for his own thoughts.

He felt a weird sense of justification in the fact that someone else felt the same way he did about the situation. Someone saw his life for what it was and also had the thoughts that maybe it wasn’t fair.

Susan recognised his struggle and was praising him for it.

He was inclined to agree with her. Loudly. But as he glanced around the room and felt the judging eyes of the other camp women on him, he felt compelled to defend his wife. The pricked ears of bored women, hungry for gossip would be lapping this up.

The last thing he needed right now was for Abigail to think he didn’t respect her. Because he did, so deeply. Which is why it hurt him so badly to push her away.

“Abigail did what she felt was right for herself.” He said softly, stitched lip stinging at the movement.

“But not what was right for _you_.” Susan pushed back, raising her brows as she looked down at him with a knowing stare.

“I’m a grown man Mrs Grimshaw.” He rasped, eyes flicking between her and the women by the fire. “Abigail didn’t make me do nothing. I support her because I want to.” He said firmly, voice faltering towards the end of his sentence. He grimaced at his own weakness.

A gruff chuckle from his left caught his attention. He turned to see Arthur striding towards him, having just entered the cabin and caught the end of their conversation.

All eyes averted themselves at his presence. John found himself wishing he could assert that sort of dominance in a room.

“I was under the impression you was done supportin’ her.” Arthur growled as he stepped up beside John’s cot. Cigarette smoking from the corner of his mouth as he warmed his hands in his coat pocket.

“Arthur get out of here.” Susan snapped, shoeing him with her hands as she turned back to John’s wound.

“Don’t mind me!” Arthur laughed heartily. “Just came to pay my respects to the fallen hero.” He said condescendingly. Susan glared up at him from her place next to the bed.

“Consider them paid.” She said dangerously. “Go on, get out of here.” She slapped his thigh with the back of her hand, making him huff in annoyance. But he did as he was told, not one to ignore a warning from an angry woman.

“Thank you.” John said quietly as he watched Arthur’s retreating back. The last thing he needed in this moment was to have Arthur on his ass about the whole Abigail situation. Especially when he had been defending her against this better judgement. He was currently too fragile to deal with Arthur’s judgement.

“He ain’t even mad at you. He’s just sour he ain’t got anyone chasing his tail after that awful Mary business.” Susan tutted, brushing off her skirts as she stood.

“I don’t know, I definitely think he’s mad at me.” John replied softly, clearing his throat after he spoke to try and remove the lump he could inexplicably feel there.

“Shhh.” Susan breathed, leaning down to place a comforting hand on his arm. “Leave all that behind you for now. Rest.” She ordered, squeezing his arm briefly before disappearing back to the fireplace.

John stared above him, teeth clenching as he found himself wishing she would come back. Her conversation had been a nice distraction from the burning feeling returning to his scratched-up face.

He closed his eyes, trying to rest amongst the quiet chatter and the distant wail of a woman deep in grief.

~~

“Is It bad?” John asked, gritting his teeth and staring straight at the ceiling, waiting for an answer that would never come. He felt Abigail tense next to him at the question. But she stayed silent and when he dared to glance at her, she was acting as though she hadn’t heard him.

He swallowed thickly, letting out a slow breath that clouded around his mouth and nose in the cold air.

He knew it was bad. Deep down he knew. He had never exactly been the poster boy for male allure but having his face all scratched up wasn’t going to do him any favours.

He supposed Abigail was upset. She already felt trapped by his affections. Suffocated, as she had so eloquently put it years before. But despite that she had stayed all this time. For his money and protection he gathered. Even though he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case or if it was, that he could change it. Make her fall in love with him for real.

But the chances of that had been torn away from him in the same way the wolves tore at his flesh. There was no way she was going to fall for him for real with his face all fucked up. He felt the hope he had been holding in his heart crumple and burn like a discarded piece of paper thrown into the fire.

He looked at her sadly, wishing she would say something. Anything to assure him that everything would be okay.

Others had made an effort to reassure him but she was the only one he really wanted to hear it from. The only one that stayed silent. The only one that had _nothing_ to say about it.

He swallowed audibly, sniffing and blinking back his emotions as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

He saw her eyes flick towards him out of the corner of his vision and heard her take a deep breath as if she wanted to say something. Hope ignited in his chest.

She snuffed it out faster than it had appeared. Her shrill voice putting him on edge.

“I just don’t understand it!” She exclaimed, making him jolt. He looked to her with misty eyes, questioning her with his gaze. She stared back at him with a look of distain, a frown furrowing her brows as she continued. “You’re a silly, silly man!” She barked, making him recoil. “Eaten by wolves. I’ve never heard such a ridiculous idea.” She shouted in exasperation. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really who?” She asked incredulously.

John looked at her, his heart pounding in his chest as her words sunk in. She acted as if he chose this for himself. He felt anger rise inside him, mixing with the pain as he lifted his head to glare at her with his one good eye.

“I didn’t _mean_ to, Abigail.” He spat, mouth forming a sneer as she balked at his response. She took a breath, opening her mouth to speak before exhaling sharply and petting his arm with both of her hands. She seemed to soften slightly as she replied. He wondered if it was because she felt bad for her outburst or if it was just because she remembered he was injured when she looked at him.

“You never mean to.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You never mean to but you always do. Always…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “Trouble.” She said softly. John averted his eyes briefly, mouth twitching with the response he wanted to give but knew he wasn’t allowed to. He had never been trouble for her. Not in his life. He had been nothing but a gentleman towards her despite the hurt she had caused him over the last few years.

He felt a strong sense of resent settle deeply in his chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose and looked back at her with an expression that matched her own.

“Well I’ve certainly _made my mistakes_.” He spat venomously, turning away from her as he felt her hands tighten.

“What the hell does that mean?” She shouted, eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, daring him to say it.

That _she_ was his mistake.

John hesitated, not taking the bait but unsure how to reply. His lip quaked momentarily, nose scrunching as he shouted.

“Whatever you want it to!”

He let his head fall back against the pillow as the last of his strength faded, his muscles giving out.

Abigail eyed him, anger seething through her as she exhaled forcefully. Taking a second to compose herself before speaking again.

She petted his arm lightly, resisting the urge to squeeze it tight and make him squeal.

“Just… Get some rest.” She said softly, gritting her teeth and pushing past his comment for the sake of his health.

She stood, leaving him to wallow as she returned to Jack who was sitting by the fire. Putting her arm around his little shoulders and asking him if he was doing alright.

She hoped he hadn’t heard John’s comment, although she suspected by the eerie silence that seemed to descend on the room that the entire cabin had been listening.

Jack confirmed he was okay and Abigail breathed a small sigh of relief, turning to look at John momentarily before settling herself beside Jack and letting him huddle in her arms.

~~

John swallowed audibly, a grunt of frustration leaving him at the gravely feeling in his throat.

No one had spoken to him since he’d taken that jab at Abigail. He could feel her steely eyes on him from across the room. Her anger just barely contained for the sake of keeping the peace in this trying time. She refused to sit by his side. Rightly so he supposed.

Still it hurt. He understood deep down he was not granted a free pass to be rude just because he was injured. But if there was ever a time he felt he really deserved one, it was now.

He had never been in quite so much pain in his life and although he wouldn’t dare liken it to pain of childbirth; he couldn’t help but think back on how horrid Abigail had been to him while she was in labour. He had ignored her hurtful comments and downright nasty statements for the sake of her health. Scared for her and the fact that she might not make it through.

He wondered if it ever occurred to her to do the same for him or if he wasn’t deserving of that kindness as this situation, not unlike her being forced to give birth, was his fault.

He raised a shaky hand to his face, finger pads brushing lightly against the bandage covering his right eye. He winced at the pain, surprised by how tender the injury was to touch. Pulling his hand back quickly he replaced it by his side, closing his eyes and tensing his jaw as he began to feel overwhelmed.

He couldn’t move properly. Couldn’t see right. He felt lightheaded and weak. It was too much all at once. The aching of his entire body making him hitch his breathing as he tried and failed to take in a deep breath.

He heard the stool by his side shift and turned in surprise to see Mary-Beth sitting by his bedside once more. She was holding a small bowl. John assumed it was food until he realised she had a cloth in her other hand. She smiled at him kindly, placing the rag in the bowl of water and wringing it out.

He looked past her to Abigail. Her eyes floating between them tensely before she seemed to reason it was alright and turned herself back to the fire.

John looked up to Mary-Beth with grateful eyes as she dabbed the cold cloth on his clammy forehead. Smiling at her weakly as she ran it over his unbandaged eye and cheek. The coolness of the water somewhat lessening the throbbing of his head and calming him exponentially.

“Thank you.” He croaked and she nodded in acknowledgment. She had always been such a kind soul. Her maternal instincts were stronger than Abigail’s by far. Although John would never dare say such a thing. He wasn’t surprised she felt compelled to care for him. It wasn’t about who he was as a person in relation to her. But about him being wounded and needing care in general.

She was always going out of her way to make sure others felt loved.

‘She’s so lovely.’ John caught himself thinking. Letting his eyes flutter closed as she wiped at his neck, careful to avoid the small marks left by crooked claws that weren’t quite big enough to need stitching. Part of him wished he had fallen for her instead. How different his life could be right now.

His lip quirked at the feeling of relief but he didn’t dare make a sound or even smile. Not wanting Mary-Beth to feel uncomfortable as much as he detested the idea of Abigail thinking maybe he was getting some sort of sordid satisfaction out of her comfort.

“You’re still here.” Arthur’s gruff voice cut through the silence like a knife. Jolting John’s eyes open and causing him to choke on his ragged inhale. “Maybe I should scratch myself and feign a limp.” The older man continued, an air of mirth in his tone as he pressed John’s patience with his teasing.

“Ain’t you got nothin’ better to do?” John asked angrily, glaring with his good eye in the older man’s direction.

The last thing John was expecting was the sudden movement from the woman next to him. Making him jump once more as she rose to her feet in one swift movement, turning to face Arthur with fuming eyes.

“Whatever the beef is between you two now ain’t the time!” She reprimanded, looking between them both with disdain. Arthur’s brows rose swiftly. Shocked in to silence for a second by the blatant display of anger from such a typically calm person.

Arthur seemed to compose himself quickly. A smirk on his lips where his stunned face has just been.

“I’m only jokin’ Marston you know that.” He said somewhat remorsefully. Gesturing towards John with one hand and holding the other up in front of Mary-Beth to calm her.

She glared at the older man with a look of hesitation. Turning back to her seat and continuing to wipe her clothe over John’s forehead as he looked to Arthur with sad eyes.

“Yeah well, you really pick your moments.” John said softly, too weak to argue as he normally would. He let Mary-Beth push his head back to the mattress, inhaling slowly as the cool rag relieved some of the aching.

“Okay.” Arthur said after a second. Seeming to really take in the moment before he continued. I’ll let you rest.” He finished, turning on his heel and being blindsided by Susan who had hurried up behind him while he was speaking.

“Arthur.” She chastised. Flicking her head towards the door as she gestured for the younger man to follow her. The smirk on his lips faded as he took in her serious expression. He followed her without question. Silent as he slipped past the women and into the bracing cold.

He’d barely stepped foot outside before she had turned, rounding on him like a hungry cougar as she began to hiss and snarl her disapproval.

“You leave him alone!” She growled, hands on her hips as she leant hard into his personal space.

Arthur threw up his hands in defence, shielding his face from a smack that didn’t come. He paused, pulling his hands away and taking in the sadness in her eyes. Her mouth a thin line as she looked at him with a mix of sorrow and condescension.

“Just… Leave him be.” She said tiredly, shaking her head as she moved to pushed past him.

Arthur grabbed her arm, stopping her before she could reach the door. She looked to him with an expression that said he had about 3 seconds to say his piece.

“Why’re you all protective of him all the sudden?” He asked slowly, letting go of her and giving her a chance to take it as a rhetorical question.

“We all got things goin’ on that others don’t know about Arthur.” She said simply, hinting at a greater secret that tugged at his curiosity. He ignored his many questions, nodding simply and letting her push past, back to her place by the fire.

He looked to John, face hidden by Mary-Beth’s body and felt a pang of sadness for the younger man.

Arthur thought perhaps he knew what Susan was talking about. He understood better than anyone, the things John had going on that others didn’t know about.

~~

** _*Flashback*_ **

Arthur tried to act disinterested towards John and Abigail’s relationship. But hearing little Jack cry about sleeping away from his Father was like nails on a chalkboard.

He knew he was being bias. Not able to help but imagine little Isaac making the same small sounds. Speaking the same heart-wrenching words.

It irritated him more than he could rationally explain. It made him angry. Furious that John could throw away what Arthur had longed for, for many years.

He had decided he didn’t care to know the details. Didn’t want to hear John’s excuses. He knew the other man was hurting. After their conversation earlier that day he was sure of it. But in his own mind, it didn’t excuse hurting others. At first he had wish he’d asked for particulars. But seeing Jack cry for the third time this week had changed his mind. John was being a turd and there was no rational excuse for it.

John had always been this way though. He thought to himself as he slung a heavy bag of feed over his shoulder and walked it to Pearson’s wagon.

He had always been a bottle it up and explode later type of guy ever since he was a teen. Arthur supposed that was his fault really. Although he refused to take any of the blame for the way John was acting at this moment in time.

Arthur sighed openly. Letting his thoughts wander and grumbling to himself as he realised he probably gave John a hard-time more often than he needed to. Especially since he’d returned to the gang after his year away. He teased him a lot. Judged him even more. But John put up with it, knowing there really wasn’t all that much to be done about it.

He felt a little guilty. Knowing John was hurting over this situation with Abigail and still treating him the same regardless. But there was a child involved and John was a grown man. Some 26 years old. Arthur realised, wondering where the time had gone. Regardless of Marston’s actual age, Arthur often found he still had some growing to do.

John had never been good with his emotions. As a child he would cry frequently. Scared, frustrated or even just plain angry. There was always tears.

Dutch had decided this wasn’t a good look for the gang. Hosea had protested, saying that he was still young. He was a child, he still had time to learn how to be a man.

Arthur had agreed with Dutch. Often being the one stuck babysitting, he couldn’t stand the cry-baby act. Together, they’d shut it down real’ quick and it was something Arthur felt regret for to this day.

He knew he was the primary reason John was a ‘bottle it up’ kind of man, as an adult. Although he had tried to fix it once he had realised his mistake it was to no avail. He had been thinking of himself first and foremost. He hadn’t contemplated the adverse effects of shutting down John’s healthy emotional outlet for his feelings. Telling him to be a man every time he shed a tear and watching on with little care for the fact that he was killing John’s childhood in the same way his Father had killed his own.

He hadn’t made the connection when the tears suddenly turned to anger and as a result, violence. Cute little John’s fearful demeanour had taken a turn and suddenly everything was worth yelling over. Arguments, screaming, hitting and sometimes even biting became common place for the feral bastard. Dutch seemed to see it as an improvement but everyone else was non-too pleased.

Dutch was the only person in no danger of having Marston’s pointy little teeth sink into his forearm.

Hosea had tried to talk with him. Seeing what he already was as a prepubescent boy and fearing what he would turn into once he hit puberty.

John had cussed him out. Essentially telling the older man to go fuck himself and running away from the conversation.

Hosea had let him go, thinking he would be back after an hour or so in a better mood, having let off some steam.

When John didn’t return after several hours the worry started to set in. Dutch organised a few people to go and look for him. Arthur reluctantly joining in on his Father-figure’s order, rather than out of his own concern for John.

Despite not really wanting to be a part of the search party, Arthur was the one that had found him. Being able to think like a kid from the streets had helped him look in places others hadn’t thought to.

He had rolled his eyes as he spotted John darting across the road in front of him and under a nearby veranda. He’d started yelling before he’d even finished crossing the road himself. Telling the little idiot to stay put. He cringed now when he thought about the fact that he had told him he would beat the shit out of him if he made him chase him further.

He’d cornered the boy, stature entirely too menacing for what he came upon. John was just out of reach, backed against a wall and tucked between two packing crates. He curled in on himself at Arthur’s approach. Trembling and shouting about how he hadn’t meant it.

It had taken a second for Arthur to realise what he was talking about. John was begging for forgiveness. He hadn’t meant to yell at Hosea. He was just so angry. He was terrified of being shown the door over his behaviour and had run away before they’d had the chance to kick him out of the gang.

Arthur had softened immediately. Coaxing him out with the promise that they weren’t mad. They were out searching for him because they were worried for him.

It had taken a lot of convincing that it wasn’t a trick. Arthur had sat with him for a long while, talking about his feelings. Explaining how even though he firmly believed tears should not be shed in front of others, it was also okay to not keep all of his feelings inside, all the time.

Arthur dropped the bag of feed and stood tall to stretch his back. Hand rubbing over his face before scratching at his chin absently. Fingers running over his scarred flesh and pulling a smile from his lips as he remembered fondly, the day he had acquired the mark.

The official story he told when asked was that he had fallen while drunk. Smashed his chin on the stairs as he flew down an entire flight, landing in a mangled heap at the bottom. He always joked he didn’t mind the mark since really, he could have gotten a lot worse.

The real story had much less fanfare and although he knew as a teen John was grateful Arthur took the brunt of the mocking when he came up with an alibi, he was sure as an adult he wished that everyone knew the truth.

John was just shy of 17 when he had finally had enough of Arthur’s teasing. Having been accepted as an adult at the local tavern, he was living it up, drowning himself in his first real taste of alcohol.

While Arthur tended to lean towards whiskey for a good time, it turned out it made John mean.

Arthur had jabbed him about something arbitrary. Heavy on the drink himself he hadn’t felt the mood change. Seen the dangerous look in the younger man’s eyes as he charged up his fist and swung at this brother with the force of his entire body behind it.

He had hit hard. Catching Arthur by surprise and knocking him down off his bar stool. The saloon had quietened. A tiny kid like little Johnny Marston knocking a man like Arthur on his ass had stunned the crowd. The silence deafening as the air was sucked out of the room in a collective gasp.

Arthur had touched at his clean-shaven chin, looking at his fingers in surprise as they came away bloody.

The shit-eating grin that spread over the young Marston’s face was something Arthur was sure he would remember on his deathbed. The way that little brat had smiled down at him smugly was not something he would forget easily. Neither was the way his eyes widened in shock as Arthur swept his legs out from under him. Nor the look of absolute terror on the kid’s face as he pinned him to the ground in one swift motion.

The way John stared up at him, wide eyes filled with true fear if Arthur had ever seen it. He had closed them quickly. Scrunching his face in anticipation of a retaliation blow and opening them moments later when he’d felt Arthur’s weight shift off him.

Arthur had held out a hand, helping him off the ground and ordered another round of drinks for them both. The saloon had returned to its usual rambunctious state and the true story of how Arthur had acquired his scar was never spoken of again.

He had lied to Dutch and Hosea. Covering for himself mostly for letting John drink. But also covering for John and the fact that he had gotten riled enough to lay a hand on a fellow gang member. Which was much more of a never-ever rule back in those days than it had been of late.

John had gotten a lot better at controlling himself as he reached his late teens. His emotional outbursts were few and far between and if Arthur was being honest, he knew he was pushing him too far in the days leading up to it. He deserved the blow and the scar served as a reminder to not push John that far in the future. Although he rarely listened to it. It was a nice sentiment.

Arthur brought himself back from his thoughts. Sighing aloud as he realised he probably owed John an apology. He shouldn’t have tried to get into his business earlier. Shouldn’t have tried to force him to do right by Abigail and Jack when he hadn’t even heard John’s side of things.

He supposed as long as Jack was clothed and fed there was no rush for John to forgive whatever Abigail had done to cause such a volatile reaction from him.

Looking around camp, Arthur realised he couldn’t see John in his immediate vicinity. Actually he realised, he hadn’t seen him at all since he’d walked away from their conversation this morning.

He turned towards Abigail instinctively, ready to ask her where he was before he realised what a terrible idea that would be. He headed instead in the direction of John’s tent. Finding it empty but noticing his fishing rod was missing from its usual place in the corner.

He turned to see Old Boy still hitched to his post and knew John would be somewhere close by. Walking towards the small lake they were camped by it didn’t take him long to come across the other man.

Hunched at the base of a tree, John had his knees drawn up and arms resting on them. His right hand dangled a cigarette loosely as he stared out over the lake completely oblivious to Arthur’s approach.

Arthur stood a little further along the shoreline, watching as John pulled the smoke to his mouth and took a long drag. He seemed to be in a contemplative mood and there was a second or two where Arthur just watched, thinking maybe he shouldn’t disturb him. He could apologise later.

As he made to turn around he stopped himself, doing a double take. Realising as the younger man changed his position so he was sitting cross legged that his dress shirt was completely unbuttoned and untucked from his pants.

Arthur felt compelled to observe him a second longer. Remembering that day down by the river some years earlier and feeling his heartrate quicken. The very dramatic display had pissed him off at the time, having not yet forgiven John for leaving. But it didn’t negate the fact that John trying to drown himself had been a real threat he had made and tried to follow through on.

He crossed his arms as John took another drag on the cigarette. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get in the water if that’s what his plan was. Arthur let himself relax a little. He had plenty of time get to him before he flung himself into the lake.

John pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and let his head fall back against the tree trunk. Holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before blowing rings into the sky above him. He stayed like that for a second, just staring up at the branches above him. Arthur was too far away to see his eyes and started to think he may have fell asleep.

John sat up suddenly, Arthur frowned as he watched the younger man pull his shirt off his left shoulder. Taking a step forward in preparation he stopped in shock as he watched John press the burning end of his cigarette into the skin of his bicep. Left arm shaking as he held it there for as long as he could stand. Hand constricting and contracting as he grunted in pain.

Arthur felt his mouth fall open as John finally pulled the butt away, flinging it into the lake and sitting himself back against the tree.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur exclaimed, making the younger man jump in surprise. He looked over, catching sight of Arthur and hurriedly tried to pull his shirt back over his shoulder as the older man advanced.

Arthur reached him as he was trying frantically to do up his top button. Pushing John’s hands out of the way and ripping the fabric back to inspect the smouldering burn shaped like a perfect little circle.

Arthur inhaled sharply at the sight. John’s arm was littered with marks. At least 10 other circle shaped scars all in different stages of heeling and those were only the ones his shirt wasn’t covering.

“What the hell?” He asked gruffly, shaking John’s arm and making him wince. Arthur looked to him, immediately regretting his rough tone as he was met with the same wide eyes that had looked up at him in that saloon all those years ago.

That same fearful stare as if he was terrified what Arthur was about to do to him. What punishment was about to be inflicted for his idiotic behaviour.

Arthur let go of his arm. Pulling back and allowing him the space he needed to do up his shirt. He squatted in the dirt in front of him. Watching the brunette’s hands move, struggling to do up the buttons with trembling fingers.

Arthur leaned forwards instinctively, taking John’s shirt and starting from the bottom button. He made his way up, meeting with John’s shaking hands still struggling with the first one and watching as they fell to his sides in defeat.

Arthur moved to sit next to him. Silence deafening as John waited. Knowing there was no way in hell this was just going to be forgotten about.

“So…” Arthur started awkwardly, unsure where to go from here. “Abigail.” He said simply, nodding at nothing in particular as he tried his best to strike up a conversation. John looked at him doubtfully. Nearly positive Abigail wasn’t what Arthur really wanted to talk about.

“Really?” John asked incredulously. “You’re just gonna dive right back in to beratin’ me about Abigail?” He asked tiredly.

He suddenly felt exhausted. Emotionally rather than physically. Like every fibre of his being was just begging him to stop existing. He looked to Arthur with an expression the older man couldn’t discern. His eyes misty as he stared for a moment before looking away entirely and shaking his head.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Arthur had seen his secret shame. Realised he was at his absolute breaking point and still felt it was alright to push him farther. Honestly John wasn’t sure how much farther he could be pushed.

“No.” Arthur answered after what John deemed to be way too long of a silence. “No, I ain’t here to berate you.” He mumbled, looking at his hands as John turned to him in surprise. “I wanted to talk about…” He paused, feeling extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t the best at speaking about sensitive subjects. “Well… What happened to make you kick her out?” He asked gently, ignoring the scowl on the younger man’s face.

“Why do you care?” John asked simply, not offering anything else as Arthur sighed in reply. He supposed it was a fair question. He had jumped pretty quickly from seeing Abigail in her lean-to to judging John for his actions. He hadn’t taken the time to ask him what was happening. Abigail complaining loudly about being kicked out was all the information he’d felt he needed. John being a deadbeat Father didn’t sound too far off the mark at the time. Especially after the whole Maggie incident.

“I’ve realised I’ve judged you harshly. Without hearing your side.” Arthur explained, trying not to sound patronizing. John scoffed, folding his arms and shaking his head, making it hard for Arthur to continue to genuinely care.

“You mean just now?” John asked. “When you saw this?” He added, gesturing to where his shirt was beginning to discolour from sticking to his fresh wound.

“No.” Arthur replied hurriedly. “Earlier, after we spoke. Seeing this…” He paused, gesturing. “Is unrelated to my question.”

John watched him curiously, eyes flicking over his face as if trying to deduce if it was a trick.

“I told you.” He said after a while, looking back out over the lake as he spoke. “She don’t love me. She don’t deserve to sleep in my tent.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, not taking his eyes off the younger man as he repeated his statement from earlier.

“Why do you think she doesn’t love you?” He asked, more urgently.

“Because she said it!” John shouted, hands balling into fists as he rounded on the other man. “She fucking said it! I heard her!” He spat, voice cracking. “She said, she told me she loved me because she found out about Maggie and wanted to keep me around!” He yelled, resolve weaker than before. “She was makin’ fun of me Arthur. Boastin’ about trickin’ me.” He cried, eyes watering as he let out a stuttered breath.

Arthur watched sadly, feeling oddly compelled to pull the younger man into an embrace but holding himself back. He felt for John, guilt welling up in his chest for not only being the one to mention Maggie to Abigail but to then worsen John’s situation by trying to force him to stick with her despite her having said something so horrible.

He listened as John ranted. Seemingly unable to stop as he went on to tell Arthur about the stocks of food he had found hidden on her side of the tent. The fact that he had been starving. The way she complained about money. He never made enough for her. Couldn’t keep her clothed as fancy as she liked so therefore was considered a deadbeat.

Borrowed money from people, Arthur himself primarily for frivolous things they didn’t need and then acted put out that John couldn’t pay it back right away after a job.

He went off the beaten track a few times. Ranting about other things, other people and their opinions but he always came back to the same place. Abigail had hurt him deeply in more ways than he had ever cared to admit before this moment. He was absolutely miserable in his relationship and the worst part of it all was that he still loved her regardless.

He wished desperately for her to apologise so he could invite her back into his tent. For her to say she was sorry and she didn’t mean what he had overheard. But he knew it was a moot point. There was no way in hell she was begging his forgiveness after the scene she had made. After the way she had turned people against him for what he deemed to be a rational choice considering the circumstances. 

Arthur tried not to openly agree with him. Not really wanting to stir the pot anymore than he already had by adding fuel to the fire should Abigail find out that he had taken John’s side. But he wanted the other man to feel _heard_.

He nodded along as John raved. Offering a comforting pat to the shoulder every now and then. Making sounds of acknowledgement where appropriate. When everything was said and done John stopped talking almost as abruptly as he had started. Staring out at the moonlight shining on the surface of the lake. Feeling empty as he realised day had turned to night in the time he had been speaking.

Arthur took a deep breath, placing a hand on John’s thigh and patting it lightly as he wondered where the hell they were supposed to go from here.

John secretly hoped Arthur would just leave. Pretend he had never said anything and walk away. Leave him to press another cigarette into his already marred flesh as a way of feeling something, anything else other than the emotional pain he was faced with after finally letting it all out.

The silence stretched between them in a way that told John he had gone too far. Opened up too much and irreparably damaged Arthur’s perception of him.

He was weak.

A failure, as Abigail would say.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur said simply, taking John by surprise.

“What for?” He croaked, unsure what was happening.

“Everything.” Arthur responded simply. John looked to him, only really able to see the glint of his eyes in the darkness.

“It ain’t your fault.” John whispered, sniffing as he looked down at his lap.

“I know.” Arthur answered. “But I ain’t made it any better for you have I?” He asked with a half-hearted chuckle. “I been real’ shitty ‘bout the whole thing.”

“Yeah.” John laughed. “You have.”

Arthur huffed a laugh of his own, shaking his head at his brother’s candidness.

“I just want what’s right for that boy.” Arthur admitted quietly. His thoughts turning dark as Isaac flittered through his mind.

“Me too.” John said blatantly. Wanting what was best for Jack had never been a question in John’s mind. He just happened to believe most of the time that having himself as a Father, wasn’t what was best for him.

There was another long silence as both men contemplated their past mistakes. Quiet breathing and the soft coo of a distant owl the only sounds around them for a long while.

John spoke first. Breaking the silence tersely and starling Arthur from his thoughts.

“Don’t you go treatin’ me any different now that you know ‘bout this.” He rasped, gesturing towards his shoulder, although he wasn’t sure Arthur could see.

“Course not.” Arthur said quietly, his voice incredibly serious. “We all got our demons.” He muttered, making John frown. He wondered if he would ever know what Arthur’s specific demons were.

“Besides!” Arthur exclaimed, his dark demeanour changing almost instantly and spooking the younger man. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Marston was a damsel that needed savin’ now would we?” He asked loudly, pushing himself to his feet and laughing as John swatted at his legs. “Come on Princess!” Arthur continued, almost shouting now as John scrambled to pick up his abandoned fishing rod and follow behind him.

Arthur made quite the scene returning to camp. Talking loudly about how he had been worried for John, only to find him napping under a tree by the lake like the child he was. The other gang members joined in on the teasing and Arthur turned to look at him apologetically. His face hidden from everyone but John.

John smiled weakly, feeling grateful for the older man’s explanation for their absence and knowing deep down that Arthur didn’t mean the words he was so obnoxiously shouting.

~~

Abigail’s voice cut through the thick fog John had been wading through. Trying his hardest to regain consciousness as he ran from relentless snapping jaws. Grey muzzles stained red with his blood.

He gasped, her words scaring him as he jumped back into the world of the living. He hadn’t realised he had dosed off. The lighting off the room different to what felt like seconds earlier when she had left him to sit by the fire with Jack.

She was once again perched on the stool next to him, hand on his arm and body twisted back towards the fire as she conversed with Karen across the cabin.

His jolt brought her attention back to him. She turned quickly, looking him over as his heart raced in his chest. Blood rushing in his ears as he struggled to breath evenly. The misty clouds of breath leaving his mouth coming in stuttered huffs.

He must have looked a mess because Abigail had frowned at him. He thought she almost looked worried.

“You okay?” She asked softly, surprising him with her concern. He nodded weakly, feeling grateful for her presence as he came down from the shock of his night terror.

“How long was I out?” He rasped, closing his eyes against the throb of his cheek.

“Few hours.” She answered simply, pulling away her hand and placing it back in her lap. He mourned the loss of contact, reaching out his hand for hers as she suddenly stood and walked away. He watched her go, confused as she moved back to the fire.

John stared at her longingly, heart aching and eyes welling with tears. He wanted nothing more than to go to her. To join her by the fire and use the heat of his body to keep her warm. He wished she would come back to him. Come and sit by him, even if she wasn’t close. Just, within reach. Instead of across the cabin, as far as she could physically be from him without leaving the room.

He knew he deserved her coldness. But the chill nipped at his skin worse than the snow. Sinking deep inside his body and constricting his chest as he inhaled another stuttered breath to join to others he had afforded himself in the last few days.

He was drowning. As close to drowning as he felt he could be without physically being in the water. He was surprised how similar it felt to having his head held underwater by a firm hand on the back of his neck. He understood now why the saying existed.

He felt his usually stoic face falling as he really started to process everything. He wanted to cry; really cry. But for every person with their back to him there were three facing him. Staring. Pitying eyes boring into him and making him feel sick to his stomach.

He blinked several times, trying to will away the tears he couldn’t physically stop as he turned back to the ceiling. Unable to stop the tremble of his lips as he inhaled unevenly.

Abigail didn’t care about him. She sat with him when she felt it was necessary for appearances but other than that she was more concerned about warming herself. She had left the second he awoke. He felt it was tell-tale of not actually wanting to converse with him at all. She sat by him when she knew he was asleep but left him to wallow when he awoke and actually needed her.

She preferred sitting with Jack. Making sure he wasn’t scared by the mangled remains of his Father freezing to death in the corner.

She wouldn’t let him come over to be by John’s side. Even though he had heard the kid ask more than once. He knew she was still pissed about what he had said that day he’d thrown her out of his tent. They had argued about it again as recently as the day before the Blackwater job.

He supposed this was how she was choosing to punish him. So blatantly in front of the world and yet he could guarantee no one noticed. She was paying her dues by sitting with him from time to time. No one cared to notice when or if it actually helped him.

He turned himself over to face the wall, hissing at the sting of his scars pressing against the pillow under his bandages.

She had deserved it at the time. Hoarding food while he starved with little to no thanks for his efforts. But he had come to regret it soon after. Letting his emotions get the best of him and pushing her away had done him no favours. She was pissed. Arthur was pissed. It felt as though the entire camp was pissed. Something that had been weighing heavily on him for weeks now.

He couldn’t help but flashback to the mountain. Sitting on that ledge with no way of knowing whether or not he would survive. Thinking that maybe if he did, he would just go. Leave again and no one would ever know the difference.

They would find his mangled horse and assume he had been killed along side it and dragged off somewhere to becomes some wolf-pup’s supper.

He could have started a new life. Proper this time. Knowing for real that he wasn’t wanted and going back to the Gang wasn’t an option. Unlike the last time he ran where he spent the entire time wondering if anyone even missed him. Feeling bad for leaving Dutch, Hosea and Arthur only to return to a punch in the face instead of open, welcoming arms.

He knew better now. Knew where not to go, what not to do. If only he hadn’t been so damn scared.

He knew deep down he would have died if he hadn’t of called out for help when he’d heard Javier’s gunshot. But there was a small part of him that still believed maybe he could have ignored it. Let them go in the wrong direction and never find him.

Abigail wouldn’t even be sad, he was sure. He felt bad for Jack but knew in his heart he would be better off without a failure like himself as a Father. 

He didn’t want to believe it after their heart to heart a few weeks before the Blackwater incident, but he knew deep down that if Arthur felt he had a chance, he would take his place in an instant.

The fact that John knew whole-heartedly that Arthur had every chance, he just had to make the right move, stung harder than a needle in his face ever could.

He had always suspected Abigail was interested in Arthur. Long before he had made his move all those years ago. He had spent so much of his time watching her that he had noticed who she had been watching. Her eyes always flicking towards the older man when he was in camp.

She had propositioned him at least once that John knew of. But he was with Mary at the time and had turned her down. He had observed her sorrow from afar. Way too awkward to ever speak to her about it. But with Arthur’s rejection came renewed hope for himself. Women never looked twice at him when he was with Arthur. If he was being honest, half the allure of Maggie was that she had picked him over his brother without knowing a thing about him.

With Arthur out of the picture John felt more confident in asking Abigail out. It was only after he was rejected that he had realised his mistake. Giving up on the thought of her, knowing deep down he had lost her to Arthur regardless of the fact that Arthur didn’t even want her.

When she had come crawling back, announcing her pregnancy John had known that he wasn’t her first choice. But having not been able to quell his feelings for her, he hoped inside his heart that she could find it in hers to fall in love with him.

He stared at the wall now, vision blurry as he shook with sadness. He hoped if anyone was watching that they would assume he was shivering from the cold. He hoped that the pathetic sound of his weeping was concealed by the crackling of the fire or the creaking of the door above his head.

Most of all he hoped she and she alone was watching. He hoped she knew, and he hoped it hurt her.

~~

John couldn’t tell how long it had been.

Hours?

Days?

He had no semblance of time. Just pain and the sweet relief of morphine every time he thought the pain had finally reached it’s peak. The medicine sending him in to deep slumber he only woke from once it started to wear-off. Leaving him awake and aching for sometimes hours at a time until some angelic voice took pity on him and told the Reverend to dose him again.

Everything was hazy. He wasn’t sure what were real memories and what he had hallucinated.

At some point in the last couple of hours the women had seemed to move to another building. He awoke to find himself completely alone. The only evidence that others had been there recently was smoke from a dead fire in the pit across the room.

He wouldn’t admit it when Abigail had eventually come to check on him. But he had been scared. Afraid they had left him, knowing he wasn’t going to make it and moving on without him.

He had resisted the urge to call out. Choosing instead to quietly hope someone would come for him soon.

Anyone.

If he really was going to be alone for the rest of his days he didn’t want to know it.

When that door had finally opened, he had been relieved it was Abigail. Feelings of helplessness overwhelming him and pushing him to an emotional outburst. No sooner had she sat beside him, he had reached for her and cried into her skirts as she reluctantly patted his head.

When she had questioned him, he never spoke of his fears. Only of the pain he was in as a cover.

In reality he had been feeling a little better lately. Like maybe he could start to get back to normal again soon.

She had let him cry for a while. Offering a mild comfort before she finally left him to call for the Reverend. John composed himself while she was gone. Relief at not being abandoned flooding through him and making it hard to keep himself together.

Swanson entered the building a long while after Abigail had left. John wondered what had kept him but was glad he had taken his time. He was completely unaware that his face was still so red and angry that no one would be able to tell he had been crying anyway.

The Reverend gave him a reassuring pat on the arm before setting about his business. John squirmed under the needle as he always did. Something about them making him uncomfortable in a way guns and knives didn’t.

The wooden door creaked opened and Arthur wandered through. Quipping at the Reverend about his penchant for morphine and making John realise why they had been so stringent with his dosages. They didn’t want him having it more often than he needed and getting addicted.

“I’ll mind you to show me some respect, Mr Morgan.” Swanson spat, standing tall in front of the burly man and not cowering at the snigger Arthur afforded him.

“Mind away, Reverend.” Arthur smiled as the older man walked past him to leave them alone.

“You’re still here, then?” Arthur asked after a moment, gesturing at John as he sat down on the chair by his beside.

John looked at him for a second. Deciding how to respond.

“I owe you.” He said softly. Genuinely.

Arthur made a noise of approval before speaking.

“And you’ll pay me…” He said matter-of-factly. Making John look to him with an air of derision. “But for now, just rest.” Arthur said kindly.

John wanted to respond but didn’t get a chance before the door swung open again, startling them both.

“Arthur!” Dutch exclaimed, making them both turn as he marched towards them. “I think it’s time for the train.”

John raised his brows at the statement. He had only been catching snippets here and there of the current plan to get out of this frozen hellhole. A train robbery sounded like fun despite his ailment. He was so damn bored and desperate to be useful again.

“Want me to come?” John asked quickly, starting to sit up without even thinking. The morphine making his head spin as they both looked at him with concerned eyes. He was so sick of feeling helpless. Surely there was something he could do.

“Of course I do but…” Dutch started, trailing off momentarily. “Look at you.” He said gently.

John waved him off, starting to pull his blankets off. The medicine had given him a renewed sense of confidence. Never mind the fact that he hadn’t walked in days and the reality of using his stiff muscles for the first time in a while would probably not be as grand as he imagined it in hazy state.

“I was always ugly, Dutch.” He laughed half-heartedly. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Lie still son!” Dutch said firmly as he and Arthur both leaned towards him to push him back down. John huffed, feeling more useless than before. “Hello Abigail!” Dutch greeted loudly as the door creaked open for a third time.

She hesitated in the doorway, not expecting anyone to be with John after she saw the Reverend return to the cabin she was in with the other women.

“Dutch.” She returned, staying true to her purpose and walking straight to John as Dutch greeted Jack who was trailing behind her. “The boy wanted to see you, John.” She said resolutely, stepping aside as Jack sidled up to his bedside and looked him over with large, sad eyes.

John looked at him momentarily. Feeling hurt well inside his chest at the sight of him.

“Well he’s seen me now.” He said simply, unsure what else to say. “Or what’s left of me.” He added defeatedly. He looked up at her, ignoring the other people in the room as he asked. “What about you?”

“Guess I was hopin’ to see a corpse.” Abigail spat sarcastically for the sake of the others around her. She wasn’t exactly the best at expressing her feelings in front of a crowd.

John scoffed. Of course that was her reaction. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered. “Bide your time.” He said frankly. “You’ll see plenty of them.”

Abigail growled under her breath. Her answer hadn’t exactly been friendly but his went too far when Jack was present.

“You’re a rotten man, John Marston!” She snapped, taking Jack’s hand and leading him away from John.

“He is an idiot, Abigail!” Dutch shouted, gesturing wildly. “We all know it!”

John frowned as Arthur tried and failed to hold back a snicker.

“Now! Railway men!” Dutch shouted as he was exiting the room. That was Arthur’s queue to follow. He did so, giving John a nod as he left him once again in complete isolation.

Regret seeped into his thoughts as he stared at he ceiling. Listening to the sound of Dutch shouting outside his door and knowing he was at least stuck alone in this room until the other men made it back from robbing the train.

He wished Abigail would come back.

~~

John had no idea how long it had been since Dutch and Arthur had left him. The morphine had kicked in not long after they’d gone and he had fallen into a deep sleep. Waking only after his face had started to ache and his stomach had started to growl.

Being alone he hadn’t had anyone to ask for help. He couldn’t accurately describe the despair if he’d tried.

It seemed to be morning now. The sunlight peaking through the cracks in the walls and making John wonder just how much longer he was going to be stuck here.

Had the men come back yet?

Did it go well?

Was anyone else hurt?

So man questions flittered through his mind. Frustration mounting as he decided it was time to try and use his legs. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself and find out what the hell was going on.

He flipped his blankets off, leaning up on his elbows and groaning in pain. His fervour halted in its tracks as he realised how badly he was still injured.

As if on cue, Abigail burst through the door, her arms full of clothes. She explained they were moving out and she needed to get him dressed.

He was grateful. Truly feeling as though he couldn’t stomach another second in this bed.

She helped him sit, ignoring his uncontrollable shaking and she covered his torso with a simple shirt and began working on his coat. His muscles were protesting being used for the first time in days. He felt weak and sick to the stomach. Swallowing back bile as Charles entered the room and helped Abigail get him standing.

They worked together to get his jeans on. He was embarrassed to be so frail in front of Charles but the other man assured him without him needing to speak that he knew the pain of working through an infected wound first-hand. He commented on how terrible it was as he was helping him into his boots and John felt better for it.

Charles encouraged him to lean his weight on his shoulder and he did so as Abigail wrapped his scarf around his neck. Charles was on his right and Abigail moved to his left.

Walking felt like pure hell. His legs aching and his heart beating out of his chest at the effort. They stopped in the doorway for him to be sick. Charles taking the brunt of his weight as he wretched up nothing but bile.

Abigail wiped at his mouth with her handkerchief before fussing over his limp as they led him towards the back of a wagon. Uncle was already waiting there and helped Charles pull him up. John grunted in pain, lying back as soon as he was able and breathing heavily as he tried to calm his body.

Abigail climbed in as Charles left. Sitting beside him and leaning her back against the side of the wagon. He looked up at her sadly, knowing the rocky road out of here was going to be hell as he was jolted all around the cart.

She looked him over, pursing her lips and smiling sympathetically as she slowly slipped her hand into his. He gripped it tightly, heart fluttering at the sentiment.

Perhaps she had finally forgiven him? He inched himself closer to her, his side touching the toes of her boots.

Her lips quirked at his actions. She knew her touch was comforting him and found herself regretting the fact that it would be inappropriate to simply lie beside him for the journey.

She had missed him lately. She knew she’d been unnecessarily hard on him the last few days. She felt guilt well in her chest as she looked down at him sadly. He had deserved it for all the fighting they had done before he’d gone and got himself shot in Blackwater.

Just when she was about to forgive him and apologise, he had to go and nearly get himself killed being reckless. Then again as soon as he was able to sit on a horse he was out almost getting himself eaten.

She was furious she’d nearly lost him. Twice. Part of her didn’t want to forgive him. To make it easier for herself if he did end up dying from his wounds. But she knew deep down that would just lead to more guilt. The kind she could never rid herself of.

She looked at him now. Beaten and battered, probably a little scared about the ride ahead and sighed softly. Deciding it wasn’t worth staying mad anymore. She wasn’t about to apologise any time soon. But she could quietly forgive him and let him revel in her comfort for the journey ahead.

She really was glad he was alive.

**Author's Note:**

> This story took me about 6 months to write due to massive writer's block. Any kudos and especially comments would be GREATLY appreciated!! I'm working on the next part of the series that takes place at Horseshoe and comments keep my motivation alive. THANKS FOR READING!!


End file.
